


Black Butterflies

by itsamagicalplace



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Illusions, Magic, Philinda AU Challenge, The Night Circus! AU, philinda au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2258823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsamagicalplace/pseuds/itsamagicalplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When S.H.I.E.L.D receives an anonymous tip-off about the promise of real magic, agent Phil Coulson heads off to investigate, and finds a world more magical than he could have ever thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Butterflies

“Coulson, we’ve received an anonymous tipoff that there is someone doing magic at a circus” Fury told him, completely deadpan. Phil blinked in surprise. Magic. Was he being serious?

“Surely they’ve done their job well if people think it’s real. Isn’t that the idea, Sir?”

Fury sighed. “Yes. But the person who gave the tipoff said that they witnessed things that were not possible to fake. They were quite insistent that this person possessed some kind of, and I quote, ‘mystical power’.”

“So you want me to go to a circus, and interview some magician/illusionist who may or may not actually be able to do magic?”

It sounded ridiculous, even by S.H.I.E.L.D standards, but Fury simply nodded.

“Tonight. It opens at 8pm. Find the tent with the illusionist inside, and watch the show. Then speak to her. Just clarify that she uses wires or mirrors or something to complete her act, and then we can put this matter to rest.”

Phil sighed, but nodded in the affirmative. “Yes Sir, I’ll report back in the morning.”

He rose from his seat and turned to leave. “Do we have a name for our…suspect?”

“No. And I can’t find any record of this circus being registered anywhere, but that’s not our concern. So you’ll just have to find her yourself.”

Phil nodded, and left the room.

***

Phil wandered around the tents, internally wondering what the hell he was doing here. Why was this place only open at night anyway? He was used to meeting persons of interest during the daytime in a formal setting, usually in his office or such. Not traipsing around a field on a cold winter’s night looking for someone who may or may not have magic. He hugged his coat closer around himself as he walked.

Before long Phil arrived at a large black tent, the material rippling softly in the gentle breeze. There was a placard at the entrance that read simply in black scrolling script:

Illusionist

He glanced around himself, before taking a breath and walking inside. It was a lot smaller on the inside than he had assumed, but he followed the row of people ahead of him around and took a seat on the fifth row from the front. It put him within a good sight line of the centre of the tent, where he assumed the performance would take place. The whole tent was illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through a gap in the fabric above him.

Phil sat in the seats and waited. There was a feeling in this tent that he couldn’t shift. It felt magical, exciting. He looked around him, and suddenly couldn’t remember why he was there in the first place. All that mattered, was he was.

The crowds hushed as some unseen force announced the start of the show.

A woman walked from the back of the tent through the crowds, before coming to a stop in the centre ring. As he looked closer, he could have sworn she hadn’t really walked, more that she had simply floated across the tent. From where he sat, he could see she was draped in a floor length black cloak that practically glittered in the moonlight. Her hair almost matched it in shade, glossy and dark, falling down her shoulders. As she turned in his direction, he saw a flash of colour, and noted that her lips were blood red upon her smooth skin. Something about her made him shiver; she was beautiful, in an almost mystical and elegant kind of way.

She was holding a sword, which he could have sworn was not there before, and before anyone could react, she threw it straight into the crowd. There was a gasp, some cries of shock, but nothing happened. The sword simply dissolved in the air milliseconds before making contact with anybody. Another flew from her hands. And another. Each time, they shattered into stardust before floating to the ground. He had no idea where she was getting them from. There was no way they could be hidden under her cloak.

There was a collective sigh of relief once the swords had gone, and a few people clapped, but they stopped when they realised the illusionist was smoking. Literally. Her hair, her black cloak, everything, was releasing what looked like a purple-ish smoke. The smoke drifted across the tent, and grew thicker and thicker until they could no longer see the woman at the centre. Phil was surprised that it didn’t smell of burning. Instead, the lingering scent of vanilla crept into his nostrils.

Rain began to fall from the tent ceiling, but it did not wet his skin. Rather, it swept away all traces of smoke, and left a serene feeling upon all who were watching.

The smoke cleared, and Phil could once more see the illusionist at the centre, now in a gothic black lace gown.

He lost track of time as he watched her perform.

Fire swept from her palms, and her dress began to ripple under the moonlight, and as he watched he realised in shock it was made out of thousands of living black butterflies. Which couldn’t be possible, surely? One of them flew away, circling over the heads of some patrons before heading back to engage in a fluid dance with another. She smiled as they fluttered around her, eyes focusing on nothing in particular. The illusionist began to spin slowly, and without believing what he was seeing, thousands of butterflies took off and engulfed her in a hurricane of wings. They circled several times, before at once floating to the ground. The illusionist was no-where to be seen, and if anybody took a closer look at the tent floor where she had been stood, they would not find a butterfly, nor a sword – rather a single black silken cloak, blowing slightly in the wind from the open entrance.

It became apparent that the show was over.

He rose from his seat almost in a daze, and walked slowly, following the crowds from the tent, and through the entrance flap he had come from. As soon as the cool night air whipped at his face, and he could once more see the stars above, the spell was broken. His brain kicked into gear, and he remembered he was supposed to be here to find and interview a potential unregistered super.

What he had just witnessed had been amazing. Incredible really. The whole show had been lifelike; no strings, no mirrors, no assistant. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said it was completely real. And that thought shook him up. He’d worked with S.H.I.E.L.D for long enough to know that aliens existed, that testing and science could result in people with abilities such as super strength. But not magic. That was not possible surely.

Phil knew he had to speak to her, if anything to reassure himself that magic did not exist and prove that she had methods of making her tricks appear natural.

Glancing back at the tent he had come from however, he was shocked to discover that the doorway he had walked through moments before, had vanished. He frowned at the black fabric of the tent. There had definitely been an entrance. Definitely. He stroked his hand down the cool fabric, but no entranceway appeared. The sign indicating what act the tent beheld, had also disappeared.

A soft voice behind him made him jump.

“I believe you’re looking for me.”

He turned around, and found himself face to face with the illusionist from earlier; once more she was swathed in black. She was even more beautiful up close, and he was momentarily distracted by the way her dark hair seemed to reflect the stars as well as the moonlight. How she had known he was looking for her, he had no idea.

It took him a few seconds to find his tongue.

“My name is Agent Coulson, from the Strategic -”

“- You’re from S.H.I.E.L.D.”

He stared. “Yes. How did you know that?”

“I know many things. It’s lovely to meet you.” She spoke in soft tones, almost melodic, and he worried he might miss what she said amongst the noise of the crowds around them.

“What can I call you?” he asked.

“Lian. Qiao Lian.”

“Miss Lian, is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

“May I ask what about?”

He indicated to the tent with a small smile. “Your act.”

She shook her head. “I won’t be telling you my secrets, you know that?”

“A magician never reveals their tricks” Phil said, and then chastised himself for sounding so cheesy as she smirked a little. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Regardless, if it’d be possible, I would like to talk to you.”

She bowed her head slightly in response. “Follow me.”

With that, the illusionist turned away, and began to lead Phil on a twisting pathway through the circus. He couldn’t keep track of everything he saw; every tent had a different design and placard, every stall sold a different beverage or snack. She parted the crowds effortlessly as she went, moving gracefully in a way he knew for sure he would never be able to do, and eventually led him towards a back exit. As they passed through a large wrought iron gate, he was greeted with the sight of up to fifty colourful caravans, each painted in the colours of the tents within the boundaries of the circus. She led him towards a jet black one, and as they went inside, Phil could have sworn the paint was shimmering like silk.

“Would you like tea?”

The cold air had taken its toll, and Phil was grateful for the warmth. “Yes please.”

As she prepared two mugs, he glanced around the room they were in.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” she murmured, without even glancing back to him. “Our architect, Leo, he designed each caravan to represent the act and personality of the person within.”

He had to agree. Across one wall was a display of swords, glinting silver in the light, with diamond-like jewels encrusted on the handles. They looked strikingly like the ones she had used in her act, only an hour before. Below them was a shelf containing what he could only assume were personal memorabilia; an expertly carved jade dragon, a photograph of what looked like her and her mother, candles burning with the same musky scent of vanilla that had enveloped him in the tent earlier that evening. Behind a wooden screen Phil was surprised to see a punch bag, and he wondered how deceptive appearances could be, and why someone who appeared so calm would need one.

He returned his focus to the illusionist as she placed a steaming mug of green tea in front of him, and settled on the chair opposite.

“You wished to discuss my act.”

“Miss Lian,” he started, and then wondered how to continue. She was watching him intently as he chose his words. “You knew who I was before I even spoke…are you aware of what our organisation does?”

“You deal with the unexplainable events within our world.”

“It has come to our attention that something involved in this circus is not…” he flustered for the right word, getting briefly lost in the deep chocolate of her unblinking eyes as she took a sip of her tea, watching him at all times. He could have momentarily sworn there were flecks of real gold in them, but when he looked closer, they were back to brown. He swallowed. There was something about this woman that he couldn’t explain. She felt…dangerous, in a way that made his stomach curl up and his palms begin to sweat. She felt dangerous in a way no woman had ever done before, but Phil knew that he did not fear her.

“We’ve had a report that something here is believed to not play to the rules of our everyday world. Something…unnatural.”

She simply looked at him, the corner of her perfectly lipsticked mouth rising ever so slightly. She didn’t seem at all flustered or concerned by his suggestion.

“And you think my act has something to do with that.”

Again, he couldn’t help but notice she answered without question. It was as though she were reading his mind, and that thought both unnerved and intrigued him.

“Your act is very convincing. Very realistic.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

“This might sound ridiculous, but all I need is confirmation that what you do isn’t actually what people would call ‘magic’, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

She smiled softly, but he watched the way her eyes flashed in the candlelight. She did not immediately answer, and it made him wonder if everything he’d originally suspected about her was true. Which was impossible, surely.

“I shall make you a deal, Agent Coulson. I have another show to perform right now, but if you come back tomorrow night, it is my evening off, and I might be willing to discuss a little bit more with you.”

Phil couldn’t help but notice the way her tone of voice indicated that their conversation was over. Usually, he’d be firm with a suspect, make them tell him what he needed to know with little room for negotiation. All that seemed to go out of the window with her. Whether it was the heady scent of vanilla that left him feeling slightly drowsy, the sweetness of tea that he knew her lips would taste of if he dared to try, or the way she watched him through her long dark eyelashes as though she could see right into his soul, every resolve he had seemed to leave his body, and he found himself agreeing with her.

“Okay. I shall return tomorrow evening.” He stood from the chair he’d been sat in, and headed for the door. “Goodnight Miss Lian.”

“Goodnight Phil.”

***

The illusionist watched him leave before she exited her caravan. But rather than head towards her own tent as she had told him she would, she moved instead to one made of a dark magenta silk. Checking there were no guests inside, she entered, slipping through the cloth and immediately feeling the scent of jasmine incense wash over her. She glanced around upon the crystal balls, tarot cards, and alternate paraphernalia associated with fortune telling.

Passing through a beaded curtain, she took a seat across from the clairvoyant, herself draped in a silken cloak, the table in front of her scattered with black flower petals.

“Melinda.” The clairvoyant greeted her by the name only her closest friends knew.

“You were right Raina,” she murmured in response. “He came.”

***

It didn’t register until later that night, when Phil was lay in bed staring at the ceiling, that the illusionist had known his first name without being told.

She was a mystery to him, that was for sure. But for the first time in his career, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. She held a sense of power around her, and Phil knew in some way that whilst he was going to see her again the following evening, he wasn’t going to find any proof she was a fake.

He was going to experience magic.

***

The next night when he returned however, the circus was nowhere to be seen.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Philinda AU Challenge hosted on Tumblr by haveievermentioned.


End file.
